


Mary's Boys

by The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting



Series: When Sherlock Met Mary [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Insecure!Sherlock, M/M, Mild D/S dynamic, Multi, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting/pseuds/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do not fall instantly into bed together. It takes them a while to find their balance, to adjust to this new footing.</p>
<p>Again, it takes Mary to set things right again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary's Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Written for everyone who left kudos and such lovely, wonderful comments on When Sherlock Met Mary.

They do not fall instantly into bed together. It takes them a while to find their balance, to adjust to this new footing. Sherlock, for once, finds himself completely unknowing of how to proceed. He does not enjoy this feeling. It is in some ways worse than before they knew that Mary knew. His guilt is eased but his frustration is not.

They do not know, for example, if they should kiss openly in front of Mary. She has given them her blessing but would that be too much like flaunting it in front of her? Sneaking around behind her back also feels wrong. It felt wrong before but now they don’t even have the excuse of preserving Mary’s feelings. They are fooling no one, apparently.

Sherlock worries that maybe his earlier analysis was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t the start of something but the end. The end of the most perfect, fucked up thing he has ever had. It sets his mind to panic, a roaring constant noise between his ears that builds until he’s not sure if can keep it from escaping him anymore.

Again, it takes Mary to make the first move, to set things right again. Sherlock is beginning to sense a theme emerging.

She walks in on them a week after their conversation. They’re not even doing anything. Sherlock is simply lying on the sofa, his head in John’s lap. John is watching TV, idly stroking Sherlock’s hair. It’s the closest Sherlock’s mind has gotten to peace in days. He has his eyes shut but he hears the door open and shut down stairs, and the familiar bounce of Mary’s footfalls up the stairs. He goes rigid as he hears the living room door open. John’s hand stills in his hair, starts to retreat, and the white noise in Sherlock’s skull increases again. But Mary’s voice gets to him first, like a life raft thrown to a drowning man.

“Don’t stop on my account.” She says. Her voice is light, playful. Sherlock’s eyes open as John’s hand once more starts its tentative movements. He twists to try and see Mary without getting up. She’s still standing in the door way, watching them, a faint smile on her lips. There’s a thought working in her brain, one that she can hardly keep contained. Sherlock is not used to being unable to read someone. But then, Mary has never been just someone.

She catches him looking and her smile goes soft. She holds up one finger and mouths “one minute” before entering the room properly, closing the door quietly behind her. She slips off her shoes then crosses the room, shrugging her bag from one shoulder and taking off her coat as she goes. She dumps them in John’s chair pauses to unwind her scarf from her neck. Sherlock watches her until she’s out of sight in the bathroom. He hears the taps run and knows she is scrubbing her hands as she always does after a day at the surgery. Sherlock tries to return to watching TV but he wasn’t that interested to begin with, and now it is near impossible. He closes his eyes again and tries to relax into John’s touch. John seems to be similarly distracted because he reaches for the remote with his free hand, turning it off just as Mary returns.

Sherlock listens to her walk towards them, her steps muffled by the carpet. Not quite barefoot, still wearing her tights. She stops in front of them. Sherlock feels her breathe across his face and his eyes fly open again. She’s kneeling in front of the sofa, one knee either side of John’s feet. This is the closest she’s ever gotten to Sherlock. She reaches her hand up to join John’s, mirroring his soft petting of dark curls. Sherlock, stupidly, tries to watch her hand, as though he’ll be able to see through the side of his head. Mary shushes, at him and John both, threading her fingers together with John’s. Their hands remain like that, clasped loosely, still resting in Sherlock’s hair. Mary continues to work her thumb in gentle circles, bringing her other hand up to touch Sherlock’s forehead.

“There now,” She says, soothingly. “That’s the most relaxed I’ve seen you look in days.”

Sherlock nods slowly. The screaming inside of him has dulled. Mary rubs the back of her hand over his cheek. He tilts his head enough to kiss her hand. It’s less of a kiss, more like the faintest brush of lips against skin. Sherlock still isn’t sure if this is allowed but he knows instantly that he’s done the right thing at the happy little sound Mary makes.

“Our John’s been neglecting you, I think, hasn’t he?” she asks. And there it is, for the first time spoken. _Our_ John. Sherlock can feel himself nod. John huffs and Mary laughs at his indignation. 

“Let’s see if we can’t set that right then, shall we?” Mary stands with one fluid motion. Sherlock misses her touch almost instantly.

“Sherlock’s room, I think.” She declares, suddenly business-like. “Unless,” she softens her tone again. “You’d rather John’s old room? So you’ve got somewhere to go if you need to?”

She’s given him an easy out, Sherlock realises. He is surprised to find he doesn’t want or need it. He struggles to a sitting position, John steadying him with a hand on his back.

“My room,” Sherlock agrees. “It’s closer.”

John laughs this time, pressing a kiss to the other man’s shoulder.

“I didn’t realise you were quite so eager.” Says John.

“Told you,” teases Mary. “You’ve been neglecting him, John.” 

She leads the way to the bedroom, but let’s Sherlock enter first. It is his room after all. Sherlock clicks on the light and hastily kicks yesterday’s clothes out of sight under the bed. He can hear the other two mumbling in the doorway. He can’t make out John’s question but he hears Mary’s answer.

“Of course I’m sure. I told you; it’s _all_ fine.”

Sherlock’s hands fumble at his shirt and Mary steps forwards to help him. Her slender fingers are deft, nimbly undoing the buttons and sliding the fabric from his frame, revealing an expanse of pale flesh. She nuzzles at his neck, licking at his collar bone. Sherlock falteringly brings his hands to her waist. She reaches back and guides his hands to her waist. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of her skirt and Mary shudders pleasantly.

John steps behind his wife, embracing her, and pulling her shirt up and off. Sherlock looks at him and sees he’s grinning. Sherlock casts his gaze away again, to the floor.

“No, no. Look, Sherlock.” Urges Mary, touching his chin and gently tilting his face up. “ I want you to look.”

Mary is far from fat, but she’s all curves. Soft edges and rounded lines. Sherlock can’t help but stare at her breasts, still held firmly by her bra. It’s plain black, function over style, but the intimacy of the garment is enough for Sherlock to go breathless momentarily. Mary pushes her chest out deliberately.

“Like what you see?”

Sherlock swallows, runs his tongue over his lips, tries and fails to answer.

“Why don’t we show him properly, John darling?”

John’s obliges willingly. He runs his hands over her breasts, cupping them, then following the material to her back. He unclasps the bra and she wriggles out of it herself, discarding it to one side with a flourish. John brings his hands to her front again, massaging the globes of flesh, rubbing his thumbs over her hardening nipples. John presses butterfly kisses to the top of his wife’s spine, smirking at Sherlock over her shoulder, before pinching one of her nipples hard. Mary moans and tilts her head back, her eyes half lidded with desire.

Sherlock realises his hands have been stationary at Mary’s hips for a long time but has no idea how to proceed.

“It’s ok, Sherlock,” It’s as though Mary has read his mind. “You can touch them if you want.”

Sherlock looks again to John for confirmation that this, _is_ , allowed. John nods his approval.

Slowly, very slowly, Sherlock trails his hands up over Mary’s sides. Her breath catches in her throat as he brushes over a ticklish spot on her side. He takes this as an encouraging sign and experiments, running his fingertips over that same spot. Mary moans again, her body convulsing slightly.

“You didn’t tell me he was such a tease, John.” she gasps. John chuckles and nips at her shoulder with his teeth.

Finally Sherlock’s hands reach Mary’s chest. He doesn’t know what to do now. This is alien territory for him. He tries to search his mind for some information, some memory, that might tell him what to do. But he doesn’t get very far. It’s as though his mind palace has a sign across the door saying ‘Temporarily Closed for Business’.

He settles for mimicking John’s movements. He circles her nipples, squeezes lightly at the ample flesh. His hand touches John’s and the other man entwines their fingers similar to how he and Mary had held hands over Sherlock’s head earlier. John increases the pressure on Mary’s breast and Sherlock has no choice but to do the same. Mary makes a high whining noise, and lets her forehead rest against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock goes to pull his hand away from John’s but Mary stills him by touching his hip.

“I understand women aren’t exactly your speciality, sweetie.” She says. Normally Sherlock might object to the pet name or at least comment upon it. It’s a mark of how unsure he is that he simply answers her.

“Not…exactly.”

Mary nods and kisses his chest.

“We can work on that.” She assures him. “For now we’ll stick to what you know.” She looks up into his eyes, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “John is going to fuck you, and I am going to watch.”

Mary sidesteps out from between the two men, leaving them stood with a gap between them. They stand there for a moment, their hands still clasped. Then John pounces. He throws himself at Sherlock, kissing him with such force that he’s knocked backwards onto the bed. Apparently he has been missing and needing this as badly as Sherlock has. Sherlock tugs at the collar of John’s shirt.

“Not…fair…” He mumbles against his partner’s lips. John chuckles and strokes his thumb along Sherlock’s cheekbone, fondly.

“Very much not fair.” He agrees.  In a few, short movements he pulls his own shirt up and off. He throws it to one side. Mary catches it like a fan at a rock concert. John pauses to smile at her but quickly turns back to Sherlock.

The first time Sherlock saw John’s scar, he’d been almost afraid of it. He’d been unsure of whether he should touch it or not. It was a stark and vivid reminder of John’s past. It was a reminder of what kept John waking in the night, drenched in a cold sweat. But it was also a reminder that John had survived. Sherlock could not help but love the scar now. It was a part of John after all.  He strokes the back of his hand over the scar.

This is not like with Mary. This is familiar, and safe, and wonderful. Sherlock is on his home field here. His hands slip into well-known patterns. He strokes where he knows it will make John groan. He runs his tongue over the spot on John’s shoulder that he knows will drive him wild. He feels John’s usually careful hands, fumbling with excitement at his belt and he knows how to wriggle his hips to help him. As soon as his legs are free, Sherlock wraps them around John’s waist.

“Excited, aren’t you?” John teases him. He’s running his nails up Sherlock’s side, leaving pale scratches in their wake, and it’s hard for Sherlock to do anything other than gasp for breath. John flicks his tongue over Sherlock’s ear then nuzzles down his neck. “I know what you want, don’t worry.”  He bites at the juncture of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder and Sherlock yelps and writhes, his hands scrabbling at John’s back. John hooks his good shoulder under Sherlock’s leg and moves it upwards in a sharp movement towards Sherlock’s chest.

“Careful, John.” The mattress dips slightly as Mary perches on the edge of the bed. Her face is flushed from watching the two men but there’s still genuine concern there as she strokes Sherlock’s forehead. Clearly she took the soft whimpering noise Sherlock just made to be one of pain. “We don’t want to hurt him.”

“It’s ok.” Says John, slightly breathless already. “He likes it rough, don’t you ‘Lock?”

Sherlock has never approved of the nickname that John took to calling him somewhere around the second or third time they did this.  But John takes that moment to grind himself down firmly against the World’s Only Consulting Detective. Sherlock moans, proving John’s point.

“Does he now?” Mary slips her hand into black curls, scraping her fingernails over his scalp experimentally. “This really is going to be fun.”

John has to let Sherlock’s leg drop from his shoulder in order to remove the younger man’s pants and the rest of his own clothing. Normally Sherlock would help him do so but now there is Mary. She nudges him playfully with her foot to get his attention as she sits back, easing both her legs onto the bed, one either side of Sherlock. He has to crane his neck at an odd angle to watch her but it’s worth it. She shimmies out of her skirt and then hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her tights. She rolls them down her legs almost tantalizingly, teasingly slowly and Sherlock turns over onto his stomach to watch properly. At last she removes her knickers. Sherlock breathes out slowly as Mary runs her hands up her legs towards her sex. He takes note of the circular movements she makes over her thighs, filing it away for later use. It might come in handy seeing as she so clearly likes it if the breathy little gasps she’s making are anything to go by.

Mary shivers as she finally touches herself.

Sherlock has, of course seen naked women before. Irene Adler being the most prevalent example but there had been plenty before that.  When one worked as a detective who frequently inspected dead bodies it was something of an inevitability. One female body is the same as the next when cold, still and lifeless, of interest only as far as their suspicious death. And of course, there had been that one time Sherlock had been with a woman. Until tonight it had not been an experience he had even contemplated repeating.

Mary is now something of an anomaly.

Far from lifeless, she can hardly seem to remain still as she strokes at herself. Her skin is pink with pleasure and Sherlock has no doubt how warm she would be if he were to touch her. His arms twitch, wanting to reach out and move her hands away so that he might see her better. But then there would be the question of how he should proceed from there. The thought that he might be expected to replace her hands with his own is one he is not yet ready to put into reality.

John tugs at Sherlock’s ankle to get his attention then turns him over, resuming his previous position on top of him. Soon, Sherlock finds his leg back over John’s shoulder.

Rough though Sherlock undoubtedly likes it, John is always careful to prepare him. Lubed fingers press at his entrance then slip inside of him. One. Two. Then a third and by this time Sherlock is all but writhing, one hand clutching at the sheets. Mary is following John’s lead, mimicking his movements on herself. She and Sherlock both make a pleasured cry as John removes his fingers and replaces them with his cock.

Again, John is slow, careful, easing into Sherlock fraction by fraction. This time Sherlock knows he is doing it at least partly to torment him and Mary. It’s working too. Sherlock digs his heel into John’s back to get him to move. John’s response is to pull out nearly completely then thrust forwards once more, with force.

It hurts, but that’s the point. It’s the good kind of hurt, that lets Sherlock know he is home.

Done with carefulness for now, John thrusts into him hard and fast. Sherlock only realises he’s still digging his heel into John’s back when the doctor pauses to slap Sherlock’s thigh lightly.

“Enough, Sherlock.” He warns, mildly. Sherlock relaxes his foot but makes a happy purring noise as John traces the outline of his handprint left behind on pale skin. John shakes his head, smiling.

“Oh you like that, do you?” Sherlock can only nod. John leans low over Sherlock and growls in his ear. “One of these days I’m going to put you over my lap and spank you properly, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Now that I would _love_ to see.”

Sherlock jumps. He’d almost forgotten Mary was there. Now she is alarmingly close to him, kneeling, and whispering in the other ear to John. She kisses his cheek and it’s like fire and lightning have flared inside of him. He knows his face is red and he’s not sure if it’s passion or uncertainty that’s making him blush. Mary kisses him on the lips next. Sherlock knew this would be coming sooner or later but that doesn’t stop the shock being any less great. What shocks him more is that he kisses back. It’s awkward; one of them upside down to the other. But it’s all alright. Better than alright.

John groans above them. Clearly it’s a pleasing sight to see.

Mary is rocking backwards and forwards, rutting against her fingers. She breaks her kiss with Sherlock to kiss John. Sherlock realises what was so appealing to John moments ago. Mary’s chest it so low over him. Sherlock arches his back marginally and brushes his lips cautiously across her left nipple.

She comes soon afterwards with a shout that’s lost in John’s mouth.

Sherlock does not know who comes first out of him and John. It never has been an issue with them. It is an irrelevant detail lost in pleasure.

The noise in Sherlock’s head is a long time in returning. There is plenty he could deduce about how exactly their bodies entwine as they lay together. Many things he could analyse in the way he ends up once more in the middle, between the couple. This should be John’s place he thinks. John is both of theirs after all. Sherlock could very easily get overwhelmed between the two of them. He quickly tells that part of his mind to shut up. Just once he has found something in his life that doesn’t need over thinking.

“My boys.” Murmurs Mary, affectionately, as John wraps an arm around them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Last time was just a oneshot, she said. I'm not writing anymore, she said.  
> This story wrote itself she said.  
> I haven't written anything this sexy in a while and it was a real struggle.


End file.
